Moyet later described how her song "Goodbye 70's" had been inspired by her disillusionment with how the late-1970s punk scene had turned out, saying, "'Goodbye 70's' is about punk and not caring how you were dressed, and then I discovered that so many of my friends that I'd thought it all really meant something to just saw it as another trend... That's what 'Goodbye 70's' was all about, about how sour the whole thing became."
Any die, if the beholder the soldier begins to bore
Four score, seven bullets (Yeah hit the floor nigga!)
Take you outdoor, darkness frightens you even more
I'm here to enlighten you, with the hardcore
Bring it raw, like the red, dead meat, in your plate
And I'll fill you up with the energy the Hill create
I gets sticky, like a green bag of the bomb diggy
Now I'm fucking with your head, and you realize that it's tricky
Got you paranoid, feeling the void, you can't take it
The reward being destroyed, freakazoid toy
With ya mind, all styles deployed, you find danger
In the stranger's eye, the killing comes second nature
Your battle filled up the mind it's falling out, hear you calling out
For help, and all the fucking yelling to is yourself
Crawling and begging for mercy means nothing when you bluffing
I'm pushing the button and straight dumping on fools fronting
Boo-yah!
Come on, motherfucker
War pigs, you dig, see kicking out Mr. Big
Take a sip of wine, engage in a battle of the mind (checkmate motherfucker!)
You feeling the force, meant for remorse, right from the source
Your head is, getting fucked and I'm skipping the intercourse
Behold, the Mic Horse, you're taking a loss nigga
Got the Nina Ross, don't need no cross, my fucking paper
Chaser green bag gladiator, terminator weed germinator
The greater the risk you fucking hater
Hit you with the psycho beta, clicking the fader slow
With the Hi-Lo, serving the blow, who got the glow
Dead men tale no tales, you fail to see the reason
I'm easing to squeeze the trigger, go figure, it's killing season
Nighty-night, motherfucker
Four score, seven bullets (Yeah hit the floor nigga!)
Take you outdoor, darkness frightens you even more
I'm here to enlighten you, with the hardcore
Bring it raw, like the red, dead meat, in your plate
And I'll fill you up with the energy the Hill create
I gets sticky, like a green bag of the bomb diggy
Now I'm fucking with your head, and you realize that it's tricky
Got you paranoid, feeling the void, you can't take it
The reward being destroyed, freakazoid toy
With ya mind, all styles deployed, you find danger
In the stranger's eye, the killing comes second nature
Your battle filled up the mind it's falling out, hear you calling out
For help, and all the fucking yelling to is yourself
Crawling and begging for mercy means nothing when you bluffing
I'm pushing the button and straight dumping on fools fronting
Boo-yah!
Come on, motherfucker
War pigs, you dig, see kicking out Mr. Big
Take a sip of wine, engage in a battle of the mind (checkmate motherfucker!)
You feeling the force, meant for remorse, right from the source
Your head is, getting fucked and I'm skipping the intercourse
Behold, the Mic Horse, you're taking a loss nigga
Got the Nina Ross, don't need no cross, my fucking paper
Chaser green bag gladiator, terminator weed germinator
The greater the risk you fucking hater
Hit you with the psycho beta, clicking the fader slow
With the Hi-Lo, serving the blow, who got the glow
Dead men tale no tales, you fail to see the reason
I'm easing to squeeze the trigger, go figure, it's killing season
Nighty-night, motherfucker
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